Snapshots
by wayward-river
Summary: Brief insights into the lives of Byakuya and Yoruichi, and how they come together. "Yoruichi hopes, but does not expect, that one day Hisana's photograph will be put to rest."  Various timelines. COMPLETE.
1. Smoke and Air

I need another OTP like a hole in my head. These are various one-shot stories based on Byakuya and Yoruichi.

OoOo

Everything about her is smoke and air.

It felt as if he was grasping at nothing, pulling nothing, fingers always slipping through empty space and finding just that. The irony made him laugh bitterly; even after one-hundred years, Byakuya still couldn't catch her. Not even the memory of her.

Her laughter was elusive, crashing through his dreams and fading, mockingly, into the morning air. Another dream of her, one which left his skin slick with sweat and his heart banging out-of tune. The day passes in a blur of paperwork and suddenly he finds himself _there_ again, after another sleepless night filled with Yoruichi-shaped blurs which he can never seize.

Byakuya knows she isn't there, but he hopes anyway.


	2. Black Cat

He thought he saw a black cat streak by, yet it was only a shadow.

That would have been one amongst the countless cat-shadows he'd seen that week – if it were actually a shadow. Its keen, orange-gold eyes met his own as it stopped, midway across his path, and simply stood there. A cool, mid-summer breeze twirled leaves at its feet, yet the cat's eyes never flinched.

Then, it leapt away, only its shadow left behind.


	3. Darkness

Everything in her was screaming _no, no, no!_

But dear _Gods,_ how she needed this. She needed the touch of his skin against hers, the smell of his hair as she pressed against him, the sound of his voice in her ears. The duality of him drove her mad; how was it that Byakuya could be so frigid one moment, and so alive, so _carnal_ the next?

"I can't figure you out," Yoruichi breathed into his ear, her hands knuckle-deep into his hair. He made no response, only continuing his way down her body, lips surprisingly warm despite the cold words he often spoke. Only when she sighed his name, the words thick and sweet in her mouth, did Byakuya look up.

It may have been the dark, but Yoruichi thought she saw him smile.


	4. Blood lust

Byakuya wanted blood, and he wanted it _now._

Whether it was blood or an explanation, he didn't know. But there was something inside him coiled into a knot, scorching his vision red-hot. Adrenaline beat wildly through his veins, fueled by the sight of the one face he thought he'd never see again.

Yoruichi Shihoin looked at him with cold, serious eyes, her mouth unsmiling. So unlike the young woman he remembered, always teasing and joking, candle hue eyes filled with mirth. What angered Byakuya the most, however, was not the severe shine in her gaze, but the absence of regret there.

Senbonzakura practically _sang_ as it sliced through her, the one who had left him so long ago when he needed her most. Yoruichi's blood flecked the ground beneath them, but still he was unsatisfied.

The touch of her hand on his arm, whisper-light, seemed to flood him with ice. She had won again.

OoOo

Hope everyone's enjoying it so far, if you have any ideas or suggestions for further drabbles, feel free. And thanks very much for the reviews, you guys are the best! :)


	5. Foreplay

"They argue a lot," Hitsugaya observed, looking down the opposite end of the hallway.

Renji grinned, chewing a bite of his onigiri thoughtfully. "S'pose."

They watched as Byakuya and Yoruichi continued to quarrel, unable to hear the words but reading their body-language clearly. As expected, the sixth squad Captain remained calm and relatively impassive, his expression stoic, shifting only to raise an eyebrow or glare occasionally. Yoruichi spoke with her hands and mouth, hips tilted toward him, arms crossed beneath her breasts, a faint blush on her cheeks.

The two continued to watch, Yoruichi growing continually more aggravated and Byakuya remaining collected as usual, neither of them noticing the people beginning to gather in the training hall.

Kenpachi swept beside them moments later, stopping to examine the scene beside Hitsugaya.

"I don't understand why adults argue so damn much," Hitsugaya sighed, scratching his spiky-haired head.

Kenpachi's yellowed, sharpened teeth gleamed as he laughed voraciously.

"Kid, that ain't arguing. That's foreplay."

oOoO

You get a cookie if you know what the last bit is referencing. Thanks again for the reviews!


	6. Flowers

She enjoyed gathering flowers.

Why this surprised Byakuya so, he didn't know. After all, Yoruichi _was_ a woman, just like any other. And most women he knew liked flowers, he himself had a certain fondness for the sakura and peony. But it was simply strange, he realized, watching her selecting blossoms from the field, a softness to her that he'd never seen before.

Yoruichi Shihoin was his current mentor, a strong, confidant woman who, although could be of great annoyance, was also a friend. He'd been training with her for five months now, under the guise of playing "tag," something he'd strangely looked forward to after a day of tedious lessons and propriety.

Bending down, the young man plucked a sprightly daffodil from the earth and placed it in her hair. One-hundred years later, she still has it.

OoOo

This update was rather slow…because I was working on a** Byakuya/Yoruichi LJ community!** It's in dire need of members, so anyone, feel free to join. The link is in my profile. And again, much thanks for the wonderful reviewers!


	7. Snow

If snow had a sound, surely that would be it.

Yoruichi almost forgot that Byakuya could play the flute – a hobby he took up as an adolescent. An edge of permafrost kissed the grass before her, the cold barely held at bay by the heavy haori she wore. Snowflakes fell prettily on the trees and rooftops, making everything glow a fragile, beautiful white. Spears of ice hung from every available surface, tree branches, the bridge on which he stood, and she was sure there would be ice on the flute he played, too, if he were a statue.

The woman let out a breath of air and closed her eyes. This was the first time he'd taken the instrument out in one-hundred years, as she'd been told. And what a shame that was.


	8. Hate

She really hated that scarf.

Not as much as the noodles he wore in his hair (she could never call then kenseikan) but the scarf was a close second. She hated it most when they walked past each other in the halls, and their eyes met in a silent greeting, because she knew what lay beneath the scrap of cloth from the evening before. Yoruichi also hated it when it was around her wrists, binding her to whatever he happened to fancy at the moment – a bedpost, a spear stuck into the ground, a tree when adventurous.

The only time she ever really liked it was when it was around his eyes, leaving her free to touch and explore of her own free will.


	9. Taste

Some said air had no taste – Yoruichi heartily disagreed.

It was much like food, each stratified into its own unique category. In spring, the wind often teased her taste buds with the promise of peaches, moist and golden as she plucked them from an orchard. Summer was full of earthy flavors, heavy and deep, something akin to chocolate in its headiness. During winter, the eventide frost had a simple but startling tang, not unlike just-ripened berries which the coldness sent to slumber.

But Yoruichi dreaded the taste of Autumn. It was only with the canter of leaves concealing her sighs of regret would she remember _him,_ and the fact that during the same season had she left him alone, much like a solitary leaf tumbling from its home.

OoOo

Sorry for the wait, guys, life's been catching up on me and will continue to do so – I got a job! Hurray! No more being (completely) broke! Thanks much for the reviews, too!


	10. Sound

Renji vowed to _never_ show up for work early _again._

Eyes still blurry from sleep, he wearily made his way through the Sixth Division offices, mumbling greetings to people who bowed to him respectfully. He had decided to at least _try_ and how up on time, hopefully to gain some sort of approval from his Captain in return. That, and he always missed lunch when late.

At first he thought the quiet, almost silent noises coming from Byakuya's office were from his sleepy state, but after shaking himself awake did he realize that yes, there was definitely something amiss. Paling slightly, he tried to pinpoint his Captain's spiritual energy, but was even more puzzled when he found it relatively normal. No surges whatsoever.

Cautiously, he pressed his ear to the shoji and listened, blushing faintly as the noises – quite pleased ones, no doubt – continued. And they most certainly came from his Captain. There was another voice there, too, a woman's that he couldn't quite place. That was all the incentive he needed to _leave as fast as he could_ before he was caught.

From behind the door, Yoruichi giggled as she continued to rub Byakuya's shoulders. "I wonder what exactly he thought we were doing, hm, Byakuya? Don't bother telling him. I'll enjoy teasing him about this!"


	11. Sight

The very _notion _ofthat man touching her rolls a shiver of rage up his back.

He can't seem to concentrate on his calligraphy today. The strokes are shaky and imbalanced, characters off-kilter and chaotic. Byakuya finds it faintly ironic that the character for "serenity" is smudged nearly beyond readability.

Somehow the poem he began earlier morphed into something altogether different and, reading over it now sends a flush of shame to his face. He awoke that morning with a pit of anger festering in his gut, and no amount of paperwork or meditation had calmed it. Now, sitting in his room with the evening sun at the door that anger had only increased.

Impatiently Byakuya crumpled the sheaf of parchment and slung it behind him. It seemed no matter how he wished it away, the sight of Yoruichi smiling so adoringly at _that man_ wouldn't leave him be. And as hard as he'd searched the memories, Byakuya could never recall her smiling quite so happily for him.


	12. Smell

Yoruichi found it appropriate that he smelled like camellias.

He smelled like the very flower his squad symbolized, but with a different tang, bitter and almost dark, truer to an orchid rather than a camellia. The orchid was strong, beautiful and exotic. The camellia was soft, delicate and proper. Once a year since her death, it was the camellia Byakuya placed upon Hisana's grave.

To Yoruichi, he gave a single orchid.

OoOo

Bah, this isn't exactly how I wanted this, I know it doesn't directly relate to "smell" but it just wrote itself this way. Thanks again for the reviews, guys.

Also, a multi-chaptered ByaYoru fic is in the works, so keep a lookout for the first chapter!


	13. Touch

Something clenched in his gut as he watched her.

Urahara shooed a wandering firefly with his fan, open to stir the late summer air from his face. From his place on the roof of the shop he observed his long-time friend, violet hair strung up away from her neck in a messy bun, the light cotton kimono suiting her figure nicely. She was more feline in her human form than not, he thought, as her hands batted at the fireflies surrounding her playfully. He watched her long fingers curl through the air and skim lightly over grass, the careful way they folded in her lap.

Urahara sighed, knowing it would not be him those hands would touch that night.

OoOo

I've officially decided to end this collection at 30 chapters - though that doesn't mean I'll stop writing ByaYoru, or Bleach fics.


	14. Conflict

No matter how hard she searched, Soi Fon could find no resolution to her conflict.

Yoruichi was her hero, her idol, and had once…_once_ been her only love. The word left an acrid taste in her mouth – "once." Someone had replaced her in Yoruichi's heart and Soi Fon could not be sure there was room enough left for her. All those years ago when Yoruichi left with _that_ man, she had been thrown into similar conflictions, which were soon resolved. But Soi Fon knew such an answer wouldn't be so simple this time.

Kisuke Urahara was a friend. Byakuya Kuchiki was a lover. And love, she knew, had no simple resolution.


	15. Photograph

Yoruichi sits before Hisana's photograph, those wide, kind eyes staring past the years between them.

Spring blooms early in the Seireitei, and Yoruichi has brought a cluster of newly birthed peonies to set before the dead woman's picture. Yoruichi never knew her, never saw her, only aware of her existence through what little Byakuya and his servants told her. A kind, demure woman, whose guilt carried her into an early and tragic grave.

Yoruichi hopes, but doesn't expect, her death to be so gentle. Unlike Hisana, she is a warrior, an Amazon, dark-skinned and brazen, the perfect foil to Byakuya's small, pale wife in the photograph. She says nothing, because there is nothing to be said. Hisana is dead. And as much as he may hope, Byakuya cannot speak to the dead, no matter how hard he tries.

Yoruichi hopes, but does not expect, that one day Hisana's photograph will be put to rest. It is just a photograph, after all.

**OoOo**

Long wait was long, very sorry. Originally this was going to be a stand-alone one-shot, but I decided to put it in here instead because I was satisfied with its short length, and didn't feel the need to make a new story that's only 222 words long.


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